A to Z and then some: F is for Fatherhood
by mapark
Summary: I've been reading and enjoying the 'Alphabet' series others have written, so I needed to do some of my own. Naturally, it's not going to happen in alphabetical order. This story came from a picture I saw while researching something else entirely. One of the members of Station 51 unexpectedly becomes a father.
1. Chapter 1

**A to Z and then some: F is for Fatherhood**

 **By mapark**

 _ **The characters depicted in Emergency! are the property of Universal Studios/Mark VII Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. All original characters (and mistakes) are mine alone.**_

Hank pulled the stack of mail across the desk, making notes about the upcoming school tour they'd be doing the next shift. His hand hovered over a very formal-looking letter, hand-addressed, with beautiful penmanship. He tugged open the drawer, rummaged around for a letter opener, and slit the envelope open. He pulled the letter out, unfolded it, and read it; as he read, his eyebrows crawled into his hairline. He pursed his lips, pushed himself away from the desk, and strode through the engine bay, tapping the letter against his fingers.

Mike was polishing the chrome on the front of the engine, and looked up as the captain passed.

"Day room," Hank muttered. "Now."

The engineer shrugged, put down the rag, and followed Hank. He was curious at the captain's stern expression; something was up, and it must be pretty serious.

Hank paused by the squad, where Roy and Johnny were just finishing their equipment calibrations. "Gage, DeSoto. Come to the day room." He strode off without waiting for an answer.

Johnny quirked his eyebrow at his partner, and cast a quizzical expression at Mike. "D'you know what's going on?" he asked in a puzzled tone. "He looks really mad."

"No idea," Mike replied, "but I wouldn't want to be the last one to show up in the room when he's in this mood."

Johnny nodded, and stood up, following Mike and Roy out of the bay.

"Lopez, Kelly! Day room, on the double!" Hank called the two, who were scrubbing and hanging hose from the previous shift's late run.

Marco looked at Chet. "What did you do _this_ time?" he asked, setting the brush down.

"Me? Why do you always assume _I've_ done something wrong?" Chet protested as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and dropped his brush on the ground.

"Because nine times out of ten, it _is_ you," Marco mumbled, kicking Chet's brush out of his way.

"Hey, it _might_ be Johnny, you know." Chet rolled his shoulders, easing the kinks from them after having spent the past twenty minutes scrubbing.

"I doubt it. Hurry up – he looks really pissed off." Marco nudged his partner, and hurried into the day room.

"Have a seat, gentlemen," Hank said in a grim tone, gesturing at the table. He stood at the end, leaned over and planted his knuckles on the surface of the table, eying each of them in turn. "It appears that a serious complaint has been leveled at the men of this shift… actually at one man in particular. Roy, Mike, I hope that as you're both married, you're not the guilty party here, but this woman is adamant that one of the men on this shift is responsible."

"For what?" asked Mike in puzzlement.

Hank took a deep breath, picked up the letter, and read it aloud:

 _To whom it may concern: one of the men at this station is responsible for the deflowering of my darling Dora, who has just now given birth. It is obvious who the father is, and I demand that the station take responsibility. I will stop by on the twentieth to discuss this matter further. Please do me the courtesy of helping rectify this situation immediately. I cannot begin to tell you how very upset Dora is about this, and I want to make sure that her life isn't ruined by this tawdry episode._

 _Mrs. Eunice Van Doren_

"Uh…" Johnny began. "I don't know anyone named 'Dora', never mind knowing someone that, er, intimately…"

Marco and Chet shook their heads. "Me neither," they answered in unison.

Hank huffed. "Well, I certainly hope that if one of you _is_ responsible for this… mess, you'd have the guts to take care of things."

Roy cleared his throat. "Uh, Cap, today is the twentieth. Did she say when she'd be coming by?"

Hank scanned the letter again, and shook his head. "Nothing about time, just that she'd stop by today." He tucked the letter back into the envelope, then shrugged. "I guess you can get back to your chores, and I'll make a note for the other shift captains." He walked away, shaking his head. "I wonder why she was so sure it was 'A' shift, though?"

Chet and Johnny exchanged glances. "What would _you_ do, Gage, if someone suddenly showed up with a little Johnny or Joanie?"

"Run," Marco suggested with a chuckle.

Chet snickered.

Johnny glared at him. "I don't see those hoses hanging themselves," he muttered, heading back to the latrines to get started on his task for the day.

Roy shrugged, opened the refrigerator, and examined the contents to consider what to make for lunch and supper that day, while Mike headed to clean the apparatus bay.

Chet and Marco headed back to the hoses, discussing how unexpected fatherhood would change their lives.

-E!-

Mike pulled into the station, his usual calm disposition marred by the facts that it was well after lunch time, they'd have to wait until Chet had picked up the two paramedics from Rampart, and that he now had to clean the front of the engine – _again_ – after the fiasco from the previous run.

Marco's lips twitched as he fought the urge to laugh, especially when he caught the sympathetic look the captain shot the engineer. Who could have predicted that what started out as a 'garage fire' at a daycare would have resulted in two serious injuries requiring both paramedics to travel with the patients… and an explosion of three containers of used diapers which splattered the front of the engine with all sorts of unspeakable things.

"Uh… do you need a hand with the engine, Mike?" Marco asked with false sincerity, hoping for a negative reply.

Mike grimaced. "Thanks for the offer, but I don't see why we should have more than one person handling such a… pardon the expression… 'shitty' job. Besides, you had enough to clean up at the daycare."

Marco chuckled, waved, and headed to the kitchen to start a fresh pot of coffee.

Mike scowled at the sight of his beloved engine's state of defilement, stalked to the closet, filled the bucket with soapy water, and fetched a mop. The thrumming sound of an upscale Cadillac drew his attention, and he walked to the apron in front of the bay, noticing that the driver was now blocking the engine's path to the street.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to move your car to the parking lot in the back," Mike said to the elaborately coiffed driver. "We may get a call and have to leave…"

"I'm _not_ going to be here long," she snapped, getting out of the car and fumbling with a box on the passenger seat. She glared at him and demanded "Where is your captain?"

"Uh, he's through here…" Mike pointed, moving aside as she pushed past him, thrusting the box ahead of her.

"Captain?" she commanded, striding through the apparatus bay and into the day room, where Marco was reading a magazine while he waited for the coffee to brew.

Marco stood up and gave what he hoped was a pleasant smile, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his pants.

"Uh, I'm not the captain, ma'am, but I can get him for you," he offered.

"Do that," she declared, setting the box on the table and folding her arms across her chest. She tapped her foot in an impatient staccato as she waited for Captain Stanley to appear. Marco's smile faded; he gulped and walked quickly to the captain's office.

He knocked, with a ghost of a smile. "Uh, Cap. It looks like Mrs. Van Doren is here. And she doesn't look happy."


	2. Chapter 2

Hank rolled his eyes, blew out a breath, then nodded and stood up. "I guess we'd better get this over with, whatever it is." He strode toward the day room, followed by Marco and Mike, then paused and raised an eyebrow at them. "I think I'd better handle this alone, fellas." He gestured with his head toward the arriving squad. "Better wait a couple of minutes until I find out what this is all about. Tell the others, but give me a chance to diffuse what might be a nasty situation."

"Sure, Cap," Mike replied, returning to the mop.

Marco shrugged, and lounged against the wall, watching as Roy backed the squad in beside the engine. He nudged Mike. "Looks like Chet and Johnny aren't talking to each other. Maybe _I'll_ drive the squad to Rampart next time, just so they can get a break from each other."

Mike tilted his head to the side, considering. "Maybe… or maybe they'd go nuts if they _didn't_ have a chance to harp at each other. Tell you what: you fill them in while I get this finished, then you and I can sneak in, and let them follow a couple of minutes after us."

Marco grinned. "That ought to get them to talk to each other again, just to try and figure out what's going on." He walked toward the squad, and explained the situation. "Remember, give Mike and me a minute to spy things out before you barge in there."

"Why can't we go in now?" Johnny replied. " _I_ didn't do anything."

"Are you sayin' _I_ did?" Chet demanded.

"That's why you should wait," Marco said. "You're still mad at each other, and this is a more 'delicate' situation."

"What about me?" said Roy. "I'm totally innocent of… whatever is going on."

Marco pointed at Chet and Johnny, still arguing in the front seat of the squad. "You're elected to referee, Roy. I'm sure not gettin' involved in this, and you already know what's going on with _these_ two!"

-E!-

Hank put on his most charming smile, and walked toward Mrs. Van Doren with his hand outstretched. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Captain Stanley. How can I help…" he broke off as the box on the table moved. He stared at it.

"Captain, I'm here to hope that you're ready to right this terrible wrong and take responsibility for this dreadful transgression," she stated, giving him a cold stare. "I believe my letter stated things clearly."

"Uh… not really, ma'am," he replied, reaching behind his head to rub the back of his scalp. "I mean… my single men don't know anyone named 'Dora', and I'm sure that my married men…"

"What on _earth_ would this have to do with your men being single or married?" she demanded with a puzzled and angry expression. "I ask you!" she shrieked, reaching into the box and holding up a golden-haired puppy with extraordinarily long ears. "Does _this_ look like a Golden Labrador Retriever to you?"

Hank, swallowed, taken aback by her aggressiveness. "Uh, ma'am, uh…"

Mike and Marco slipped in, their smiles wry at observing their captain's discomfort. They moved unobtrusively into the kitchen, pretending to focus on coffee while actually listening to the exchange.

"WELL?" she demanded, thrusting the puppy up into the captain's face. The puppy gazed at him with sorrowful eyes, then licked Hank's chin, his tail wagging. A small yipping bark issued from the puppy's throat. He washed Hank's chin again with his tongue, his paws twitching in the air.

Mike covered his mouth in a desperate attempt to smother a laugh, and succeeding in choking on his own spit. He started coughing uncontrollably.

Marco slapped the engineer on the back, ostensibly to help Mike's coughing spasm. In reality, he was grateful for the opportunity to conceal his own facial expression behind the taller man. _Wow, Cap is really rattled. She's making him as nervous as McConnike does!_

Chet, Johnny and Roy came into the day room, and paused, their eyes swivelling from the barely controlled smirks of Marco and Mike, to the faces of Hank and the angry woman. "We're back," Chet said with a shrug.

The woman whirled, and her eyes narrowed as she glimpsed Chet. "YOU!" she growled.

Chet's eyes widened, and he took an involuntary step backward. "Uh… hello?" He tried a friendly smile, then gulped, his half-smile fading in an instant.

She pointed the index finger of her free hand at Henry, lying on the sofa, then lifted the puppy at Chet in an unspoken gesture of accusation.

"Uh… ma'am… I can explain," he said quickly, clearing his throat. "Uh… it was only _once_ …"

She stalked toward him, swinging the puppy. "Once is _all_ it takes, or don't you even know basic biology?"

"Look, it was an accident," Chet mumbled, his hands raised in a defensive posture. "Who knew that Henry could move that fast?"

Mrs. Van Doren stared at the Basset hound on the couch, who gave a yawn, rolled onto his back, and then settled back into his nap. "It looks like that's the _only_ thing he's ever done that was fast," she snapped. She turned back to Chet, and thrust the puppy at him. " _This_ is _yours_." She pointed at the box with three other puppies curled into soft golden balls. "And so are _those_." She sighed, and crossed to the door. Her voice quavered. "And somehow, my poor darling Dora will put this unhappy episode from her life…" She opened the door, paused on the threshold for dramatic effect, and snarled, " _Forever!_ " as she left.

Mike coughed a couple more times, then let his laughter escape – but no sound came out. He pointed at Chet and the puppy he was clutching, then at Henry, then at the box of puppies on the table. A thin wheezing escaped the engineer, as he doubled over, leaning on the counter for support, tears pouring down his cheeks.

Marco's laughter was anything but silent. He walked over to the table, picked up one of the sleepy puppies, and cuddled it, chuckling loudly all the time. "You know, they _are_ pretty, uh, 'interesting-looking' dogs… not a Golden lab, for sure, but certainly not all Basset hound. They have their, er, father's ears and eyes, though."

Hank rounded on Chet, who was trying to sneak out of the room with the puppy. "Perhaps you have something to explain, Kelly?" he asked in an icy tone, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his right eyebrow almost into his hairline.

"Uhmmm. Well… I, sorta borrowed Henry a few weeks ago…" Chet began.

"For _what_?" Hank snapped.

Chet squirmed, absently patting the puppy in his arms. "Well… there was this girl…"

"Don't say anything more," Hank replied with a sigh, rolling his eyes as Roy and Johnny started to snicker.

Chet's expression was earnest. "No, he was fine… it was when we were walking in that park a couple of blocks away, and _she_ let her dog off the lead…"

"So you just had to follow suit, right?"

Chet shrugged. "You wouldn't have known it was Henry, he moved that fast…"

Marco put the puppy back into the box, leaned over and laughed louder. He glanced over at Mike, who was still convulsed in silent laughter, and pounding on the counter. Marco snickered, but his grin faded as he stared at the engineer.

Mike's face was red, his shoulders were shaking uncontrollably, and his mouth was sagging open.

"Roy!" Marco called, as Mike started to sink to the floor, gasping for air. "Breathe, Mike!"

"Gage, get the oxygen!" Hank called as he and Roy moved to assist their engineer. They eased him to the floor, alarmed as his colour changed from red to white, tinged with blue lips. His eyes rolled back in his head, then his eyelids closed as he passed out.

-E!-


	3. Chapter 3

Hank released his grip and got out of the way, allowing Roy to examine the unconscious man. "Marco, call in a still alarm, and get the biophone. Roy, what do you need us to do?"

Roy pulled out his stethoscope and placed it on Mike's chest, assessing his breathing. He frowned, adjusted the position of the bell, then his expression relaxed. "He's moving air well; I think his diaphragm went into a spasm for a minute there, and that stopped his breathing." He shifted the bell of the stethoscope again, listening to Mike's heartbeat, then nodded at Johnny as he set up the oxygen. "Good and strong, and slowing down. His pulse is now down to about 100, respirations are 22 and shallow. Stand by for BP."

Johnny picked up the handset on the biophone. "Rampart, this is Squad 51."

"Go ahead, 51," Kelly Brackett replied.

"Rampart, we have a 33 year-old unconscious male, due to an episode of respiratory arrest. He is breathing on his own now. Vital signs are: pulse 100, respirations 22 and shallow, blood pressure…" he looked at Roy.

Roy removed the stethoscope from his ears. "BP is 90 over 50." He looked down as Mike's eyelids fluttered open.

"Wha… what happened?" Mike asked, his tone groggy.

"You, uh, passed out from laughing," Roy said softly.

Mike swallowed. "Damn." He closed his eyes, pressed his fist lightly against his forehead and took some slow breaths. "Not again," he mumbled.

Johnny shot Roy a questioning look. "Rampart, patient's BP is 90 over 50, and he has regained consciousness. He was hypoxic for about two minutes, but there appears to be no further difficulty breathing at this time."

Roy asked, "Mike, has this ever happened before?"

Mike took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Not for about ten years, though. Maybe a couple of times before that. It's nothing to worry about." He blinked. "Can I get up now? I feel like an idiot, lying here. I'm feeling fine."

Johnny keyed the handset again. "Rampart, patient reports this has happened before, but not for ten years. He is fully conscious."

Dr. Brackett pulled at his lip, considering. "Squad 51, sit the patient up, then get another set of vitals."

Roy helped Mike to a sitting position, his back supported against the wall. The engineer sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "This is really embarrassing. Look, I'm fine, okay?"

Roy touched Mike's shoulder. "Look, man, you passed out because you couldn't breathe. At least let us check you out, all right?"

Mike's head sagged. "Sure, but you're wasting your time. I'm fine now."

Roy's voice took on a firm quality. "Humour me for a minute, okay?" He took another set of vital signs, his facial expression mirroring his surprise. "Huh. Perfectly normal now. Pulse 80, respiration 14 and regular, blood pressure 120 over 90."

Mike pulled off the BP cuff and handed it back to Roy, then pushed himself to his feet. "Can I get back to work now?" he asked, his tone a mixture of resignation and impatience.

Johnny nodded as he reported the vital signs to Rampart, then shot a quick glance at his partner. "10-4, Rampart. We'll monitor throughout the day, and transport if the situation recurs."

Mike sighed. "Great," he muttered. He stalked toward the apparatus bay, but the captain held up his hand to stop him.

"A word with you, Mike," he said, tilting his head toward the office.

"Yeah. I guess this is one of those 'need-to-know' things," Mike replied, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

"Kelly, do something with those… puppies," Hank growled, following his engineer from the day room. "Marco, finish up with the engine."

Marco groaned, but headed to the bay to finish the unenviable task.

Johnny packed up the oxygen and biophone as the two senior men left the room. "Huh. You ever seen anything like that before, Roy?"

Roy shook his head. "Nope, but I _have_ read about it. Like Mike says, it's probably nothing to worry about, especially if it's been ten years since the previous incident."

"Yeah, but still… no wonder he's so quiet all the time." Johnny stowed the gear back in the squad, while Roy got the lunch started.

When Johnny came in to get a cup of coffee, Roy held his finger to his lips, then nudged his partner and gestured to the day room area. Johnny peered over, and grinned.

Henry was in his usual position, lounging on the couch. However, this time there were four golden bundles of fur draped over his paws – in exactly the same position as the slumbering Basset hound. Henry yawned, and the four puppies followed suit, then closed their eyes and settled down for a nap.

Chet came over and poured himself some coffee, then looked at the sleeping canines. "Hey, fellas, anyone want…"

"NO!" they answered in unison. Johnny chuckled. "Maybe your lady friend would like some children, 'Papa'."

"Aw, c'mon," Chet protested. "They're really cute."

Roy snorted. "And just _brimming_ with energy, I see."

Johnny poked Chet in the chest. "Your problem, friend, not ours."

"What am I gonna do with _four_ puppies?"

"You shoulda thought of that before you let Henry off the leash."

Roy pursed his lips. "You could get in touch with the Humane Society, or put an ad in the paper."

"Check with the local kennels and see if anyone is lookin' for a low-key puppy," Johnny suggested with a grin.

Hank entered, his expression unreadable. "Roy, can I see you a minute?"

"Sure, Cap." Roy followed the captain through the apparatus bay, where Mike and Marco were finishing up with the engine and into the office.

Hank gestured him to a seat, then closed the door. "I've just finished talking with Dr. Brackett at Rampart about Mike. He says there's nothing to worry about, but he wants you to check his vital signs every couple of hours until lights out, then again in the morning. He also said that if this was a first-time occurrence, he'd have him in Rampart for all kinds of tests. Now, Mike has authorized me to disclose this to you, but it goes no further, all right?"

Roy nodded, pondering how he was going to keep Johnny from pestering him with questions.

"Dr. Brackett said that what happened to Mike was 'gastric syncope."

"Gelastic syncope. It sorta means that the person laughs himself into unconsciousness. I read something about it in one of the magazines in the doctor's lounge last month while waiting for Johnny to finish up with a patient. As I recall, it's got something to do with the laughing causing the diaphragm to go into a spasm, and not enough oxygen getting to the brain. It's not really that common, but Mike said it's happened before."

Hank nodded. "According to Mike, the last time was in college, but I guess that the idea of Henry moving quickly, or having puppies was so ridiculous…"

"… that it was laughable. I don't believe it myself, either, but there are four little golden examples out there, and you just _know_ they're Henry's. They have his eyes and ears, and they act just like him."

"Meaning they're sleeping on the couch, right?"

Roy chuckled. "Right in one." He stood up. "I'll make arrangements with Mike to try to minimize things, and handle this as privately as possible."

"I appreciate that, Roy. I know I can trust your discretion – and that you'll let me know if anything needs to be addressed, but as far as I'm concerned this is a non-issue. Now I'll let the others know there's nothing to worry about, but you're the only one apart from Mike and I who knows the whole story."

"Gotcha, Cap." Roy walked into the bay, whistling a light tune, caught Mike's eye, and gestured to the dorm with a tilt of his head.

Mike nodded, and put his mop into the bucket. "You go ahead, Marco, I'll be right there. Thanks for the help."

"I'll be right in to fix lunch," Roy added. "Gotta wash first." He headed toward the bathroom, while Mike dumped the mop water, then followed Roy past the bathroom and into the dorm.

Mike sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over. "I was hoping this wouldn't be necessary," he mumbled. "It's been so long since the last time, I thought it would never happen again. Just my luck, right?"

"Mike, do you really think Dr. Brackett would agree to this if he was worried about your ability or safety?"

He sighed. "I guess not, Roy. I don't think we have anything to worry about right now – last thing I feel like doing is laughing. Besides, now I have to go to Rampart tomorrow for some follow-up tests, anyway." He held out his arm for the blood pressure cuff. "At least Cap doesn't seem worried."

Roy smiled as he finished taking the readings. "And I'm not, either. Perfectly normal, as expected. Now I'd better get lunch on the table before they start eating those puppies."

"If you tell me you're making hot dogs, I'm gonna kill you," Mike warned, a smile playing on his lips.

"Perish the thought; more like a tuna salad."

"Sounds about right. Thanks, Roy, for not making a fuss about things… and for being there to… you know."

"Hey, it's in my contract. No problem. Now our main worry is gonna be what to do with Henry's puppies. They are kinda cute, in a really passive sort of way."

"Would that be a 'Henry, not-gonna-move-unless-there's-an-earthquake' passive, or a 'cuddle-me-I'm-cute' passive?" Mike asked as they headed to the kitchen.

Roy held up both hands as if balancing weights. "A little of both, really."

"Hmmm. I might know someone who'd be able to take all four of them. I'll have to call her first, though."

"Oh?" Roy asked. "That'd make Chet's day."

"It's gonna take a couple of days to check on things. Let him reap the fruit of his labours first… well, Dora's labours, really."

Roy stifled a laugh as they peered into the day room. Chet was seated at the end of the couch, his eyes closed, with all four of the puppies draped over his legs. "I guess every dog has his day."

"You callin' me a dog, DeSoto?" Chet murmured, not opening his eyes.

"Just wondering how you're adjusting to fatherhood, Chet."

The lineman reached down to rub the ears of the nearest puppy. "So far, so good. Just not quite sure what to do next. And what am I gonna do with four puppies?"

"Find a very tolerant woman."

-E!-

 _Author's note: I'd like to thank my wonderful beta-reader, who wishes to remain anonymous. You help me improve my writing, and I really appreciate it!_


End file.
